


Delusion

by wellisntthatshiny



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellisntthatshiny/pseuds/wellisntthatshiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't so bad if you pretend</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usedtobeaduchess](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=usedtobeaduchess).



The first time it happens is New Year's Eve of 1830. Enjolras looks absolutely radiant, glowing with confidence that the New Year will bring about a change in the people, that the stirrings of discontent are already taking root. At midnight, he gives a beautiful speech of freedom, of salvation for the starving workers of France, of equality for all, of the beauty and potential of _Patria_. The Amis have had more than their fair share to drink, and each and every one of them rises to give a standing ovation and join in with Courfeyrac's slightly slurred cheers. After all, they are all nine together having a wonderful time with their guardian angel to keep guard over his inebriated friends as well as he does the revolution.

As the night creeps towards dawn, each of the Amis makes his way home until only Combeferre and Enjolras remain, speaking with an eager optimism for the year to come. Sipping from his bottle of absinthe, Grantaire leans back in his seat at the corner table and watches the two men with a jealous eye. Enjolras finally straightens up and begins to put on his heavy winter coat, making for the door with a final reminder for the other men to get some sleep. Combeferre, having had a bit more to drink than he would normally allow himself, stumbles over to the corner table.

“He is absolutely brilliant when he speaks,” Combeferre says as he sits down at the shadowed table. “He has this, this sort of-” he paused, looking for the word.

“Light?” Grantaire suggests.

“Precisely.” Combeferre pauses for a moment, before saying “I have never met a man who is his equal.”

“You as well?” Grantaire asks with a cynical snort. “I suppose I wouldn't be the only one.”

“What do you-” Combeferre begins.

Grantaire cuts him off. “Do both of us a favor and admit to your sins. It isn't as if he's difficult to love.”

Combeferre nods with a sad smile and both men fall silent for some time, sharing the final sips of the absinthe between them. As they reach the last of the drink, Combeferre begins to rise, intending to part for home, no matter how lonely it may be.

“It isn't so bad if you pretend,” Grantaire says, staring at the empty bottle.

Combeferre pauses in mid-step. “If you pretend what?”

“That someone else is him. It'll get you by for a little while at least.” Grantaire finishes with a muttered “It does me.”

“That is a horrid thing to say. No matter how much I may want...” Combeferre trails off. “It matters not. There are far more important matters at hand. The revolution, if you might remember.”

“Of course,” Grantaire laughs darkly. “The Revolution. Arms to buy, battles to fight, men to kill, all in the name of his _Patria_. Still, it must be difficult to lead beside him. See what a mess I've made of myself just from sitting in the shadows. Imagine being in his glow as often as you are. I'd go mad. Madder than I am, that is.”

“It is a bit trying at times,” Combeferre says softly, more to the shadows than the man at the table. “But what am I to do about it? Play pretend as you suggest?”

“You'll find it isn't so bad as it sounds.” Grantaire rises from the table and staggers the few steps over to where the other man stands. He grabs him roughly by the shoulder and turns him so they are face to face, mere inches apart. Grantaire pauses for several moments before pulling Combeferre forward and forcing their lips together.

It is no tale for daylight. There are no sweet, soothing words or comforting kisses. There are teeth clicking against one another, and angry, repressed tongues fighting for dominance. Arms grab and nails scratch as Combeferre strips away the remnants of his self-restraint and pushes Grantaire back against the corner table, the other man pulling at clothing all the way. Upon reaching the table there is only more of the same -biting, grabbing, pulling, scratching, thrusting- until both men are leaning against the table for support as they catch their breath, shouts of Enjolras' name still thick on their tongues.

Once he has recovered, Combeferre scrambles to pull on his clothing, a desperate attempt to hide his shame from the rest of the world as he nearly runs through the doorway, leaving a still naked Grantaire to fend for himself.

The next day, neither of them says a word to the other.

***

It is not until July, just after they believe their uprising has been successful, that it happens again. Each Ami, aside from their leader, is drinking his weight in wine, though some required more prodding than others. The air of triumph and joy surrounding the men is all consuming, and Enjolras is absolutely shining with the victory. This time Grantaire hardly manages to put forth a sarcastic greeting before Combeferre's mouth is on his, desperate for the illusion it provides. They receive the news only hours later that a new king has taken the throne

***

Grantaire never receives an explanation for the third occasion. He opens his door late one night in early September to find Combeferre reeking of alcohol and desperate for Enjolras' touch. It is the first time Grantaire allows Combeferre to fully use his body, and with each thrust he pretends it is their golden-haired leader filling him, calling out Enjolras' name, even as Combeferre shouts the same. And if, for just a moment, the delusion falls away and a few tears slip from his eyes, neither man acknowledges Grantaire's mistake.

***

It becomes, more or less, a regular occurrence. Sometimes Combeferre lasts three months before showing up much as he did that September night; other times he lasts no more than a few weeks. Not once after the first time does Grantaire initiate the acts and never do the two men speak about what they have done. Every morning after is filled with downcast eyes and slumped shoulders, and each man avoids the other for days after each encounter.

After one particularly rough night in May of 1831, Grantaire comes to the meeting walking with a bit of a limp while Combeferre has a clear bite mark on his neck. Courfeyrac makes a joking comment about what wonderful nights each of the men must have had, and seems thoroughly put out when neither will part with any information about their mystery women. After nearly a fortnight of noticing the men avoiding each other, Enjolras questions Combeferre as to whether he and Grantaire have had a falling out, to which Combeferre forces out some excuse of a disagreement over a minor detail of politics and a promise to remedy the problem.

***

The final time is the fifth of June, 1832. The smell of gunpowder hangs in the air and both men are acutely aware that they are almost certainly going to die. They each cling to the illusion that it is Enjolras with them, and try to believe that he will lead them out of this barricade the same as he has lead them through the past. When the morning comes, they exchange a nod before Combeferre parts to seek Enjolras' final commands. Grantaire settles in a corner and reaches for his bottle absently as he muses over how long he'll have to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any poor characterization or inaccuracies. While I've jumped right in, I admit to having only joined the fandom post-movie, and so while I did as much research as possible to get everything right, my knowledge of the characters is not as firm as it should be. This fic simply refused to leave me alone until I wrote it down.


End file.
